Leonora glanced at the long sprung instrument that would deliver the third ring. It was already primed. All she would need to do was gather up the delicate skin and press it through. It would be over in seconds.
Emily felt the brush of the cold steel against her inner thighs and froze. The room was ominously silent. She dare not imagine what was to follow – except that at some level she had already guessed. Her nipples felt hot now; aching deep inside, and she had felt the cold rings against her flesh for a few seconds until her body heat had warmed them.
"Lie very still," said Leonora on an outward breath. The sensation that followed a split second later was abstract; white heat – accompanied by a strange hissing sound. Emily screamed out as she felt the ring pass through the lips of her sex. Tears of pain and terror blinded her. Standing between her legs Leonora made a low noise of satisfaction. "There," she said patting the girl's thigh, "all done."
Emily mewed in terror as something cold snaked over her belly. Glancing down she saw the glitter of a narrow chain and heard the snick of the catches as her nipples and sex were joined in an unnerving triangle.
Leonora leant over her, almond eyes alight. "You look very beautiful," she purred. "Why don't you let me show you?"
Emily felt her arms and legs being freed and then she was helped to her feet by one of the men. Her steps were unsteady, faltering. Ahead of her was a full length mirror. What she saw reflected there stunned her. The delicate chain linked the rings through her nipples before dropping down to the pink naked mound of her sex, creating a V shape that drew her eyes to the silver ring that nestled in the bare swollen flesh of her outer lips. Around her neck was the studded collar Roderick Banyon had put on her, and her wrists and ankles were still circled by leather straps.
Leonora smiled behind her and gently lifted Emily's dark hair back off her face. "You're nearly ready to begin your year with us," she said. "We will start your training tomorrow."
She snapped her fingers and the uniformed men approached and took hold of Emily's arms. She was too stunned to resist.
Leonora glanced at the men. "You may do the rest. Put her in 27 when you've finished." A second later she peeled off the surgical gloves, dropped them on the floor and vanished through the exit. Emily swallowed hard and looked from face to face of her two guards. What else was there they could possibly do to her?
They took her over in front of the thick glass wall. She could see and feel the eyes of the observers. "Kneel down," said the first guard. Shaking Emily complied.
The second took something from the trolley. Emily flinched; what in god's name was going to follow? There was a humming sound and the first guard jerked her backwards; they were going to shave her head. The clippers droned as they bit into her soft golden brown hair, the first shoulder length tress fell to the floor in front of her. Her humiliation complete, Emily tried to close her mind to the sounds. Tears were trickling down her pale unhappy face.
When they were done the first guard pulled her to her feet. His expression was blank and unfeeling.
"One last thing," he said and pulled something from his jacket pocket. It was a thin rubber hood that fitted like a second skin over her skull and down over her eyes and ears, shaped to leave her mouth and nostrils uncovered. It was almost a relief not to be able to see. Emily took a deep breath. Anonymous hands led her away; she was too shocked, too lost in her own private fears, to do any more than go where they guided her.
The walk seemed long, turning left and right, the floor cold and unforgiving beneath her bare feet. Finally she heard a key turn in a lock and was led into what she sensed was a smaller room. Her guards guided her onto a narrow bed, fixing something through the wrist cuffs so that her hands were secured above her head, with a little slack so that she could just about turn over.
"Don't try to take off the mask," were the final words she heard before the door slammed shut. Alone she curled into a tight ball and started to sob, great hot miserable tears that clung to the inside of the mask. The chains cooled and warmed as they brushed again the peaks and curves of her body. The pierced places felt hot, bruised and swollen.
Behind the mask she could see the compelling image of Peter Howard. Why had he left her in such a mess? Surely he must have known what sort of men he was dealing with!
Max Fielding had driven down to Deuvar to witness the initiation. He had not been disappointed – nor had any of their other clients who had paid to see the spectacle. He was sorely tempted to put a bid in to be the one to deflower her.
While the other gentlemen and ladies who had watched Emily's preparation had now gone off into other parts of the house to find gratification, he had come to visit what was jokingly called 'The Stock Cupboard'. At the rear of the secluded mansion were three tiers of small cells where the girls of Deuvar were kept ready for their masters' use.
He walked slowly along the galleried landings; most of the girls were out in the mansion, on display, though some of the privately 'owned' girls were still chained up and waiting in their cells. He grinned to himself. Sometimes it felt as if he was running a very private livery stable.
He peered through the open hatches. As a director he had a master key. Not too much was said about what went on in the stock cupboard. The male staff could avail themselves of whatever was on offer and some of the regular members, he knew, bribed the guards to have special privileges with particular girls.
In one cell was a heavy limbed Negress, trussed up on all fours, ready for the attentions of her particular owner. An ornate silver dildo had been skilfully inserted into her anus; apparently she was too tight for the man who regularly serviced her and who preferred the delights which a boy might better offer. Below the dildo Max could see, glittering, almost buried amongst her oily black hair, the row of silver studs that her master had had inserted into her labia. A thin plaited whip hung on the wall above her. The girl was making soft throaty sounds and Max wondered if perhaps one of the guards had used her – the pale lips of her sex glistened like jewels.
In the cell next door was a Junoesque red head, secured spread eagle against the wall. Max knew that she belonged to a particularly interesting female financier, who relished the chance to lay on the whip. He had watched them once, enjoying seeing the submissive Titian giantess crawl on her hands and knees to service her mistress with her long pink tongue. The memory made him shiver with pleasure. Perhaps he ought to make a point of watching them again -
In cell 27 crouched the reason for his late night visit. Emily Lawrence was curled into a fetal ball, her naked sex peeking shyly between the curve of her thighs. The silver ring was just visible under the harsh overhead light. He watched for a few seconds, trying to guess whether she was asleep or awake before fitting his master key into the lock.
Her body stiffened as she strained to hear his approach. On cat-like feet he moved alongside her bed. The thin hood picked out her distinctive features, rendering her face to an ebony sculpture. He stroked her thighs gently. "Straighten your legs," he whispered. "I want to look at you."
Slowly she complied, her lips trembling below the edge of the mask. Laid out for him under the unforgiving eye of the lamps she was a feast. "Open you legs," he murmured as he circled her nipples, delighted that they hardened under the merest touch. The rings looked superb; Johnson had been right in his decision to pierce her. He bent closer and took one between his lips, sucking the little fleshy peak and the cool ring into his mouth. She shuddered, obviously afraid that the flesh would tear.
As he kissed and sucked each peak in turn he moved his hands lower to stroke her sex; so tempting but as yet unavailable. He parted the lips gently above her clitoris and then kissed a soft moist route down over her belly until the little peak nestled between his lips.